Out of the Tower: A Rapunzle Tale
by fairygypsy
Summary: Abriela escapes the tower and wishes to find her family. Bus she is waylaid from her plan to find them by a pompous prince and his psychotic mother. she can't save herself this time. too bad there's no one handsome and sane around to help her. but wait...
1. Default Chapter

Obviously the idea of Rapunzle doesn't belong to me so…. I'm not stealing, just borrowing.  Please review.  This started as an assignment for my creative writing class so I had to stop it somewhere, but I did have thoughts of continuing it.  I'd like to know if I should continue Abriela's adventures.  So… uh… hope you enjoy.

            She ran her hands through her silky golden hair and, closing her eyes, heaved a sigh of relief.  She had the dream again.  The one were she is being strangled by her own hair; the strong golden strands cutting deeper and deeper into her arms, legs, and throat with every frantic desperate flail for freedom.  She had woken suddenly and with a cry, as always.  No matter how many times she had the dream it still troubled her.  She would wake with a start, and then, to reassure herself, she would run her fingers through her hair, and then sigh thankfully upon learning that it was normal length.  For three years she had woken up in a sweat, running a reassuring hand through the silky strands, as she did now.  Every night for the past ten years she had been drowned in a sea of her own hair.  The dream had become as much a part of her life as tending to the farm or raising her brothers.  

 As she lie in bed for several more minutes, letting the warm morning sun penetrate the shadows that had been left behind in the night and soak into her skin and through her closed eyelids, the dream melted away.  As it always did; until she could no longer remember why she was so shaken, and put it behind her entirely.  By the time she rolled out of her small comfortable bed the dream had totally left her and she was ready to meet the day that was slightly stealing into her window.  

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The first time she had had the nightmare she was seven years old.  She told her father; told him that she felt it was warning her of something.  But her father was a sensible no nonsense kind of guy and he responded by saying, " bah!  Just superstition and bit of nerves Abriela.  That's all.  You must have had something at dinner last night that disagreed with.  Bad food, that's the only thing that causes nightmare.  I remember the carrots did seem a little off didn't they."  And that was all the comfort she got.  And it was comforting… until the next night, when the nightmare came again.  There had been  no bad carrots at dinner that  night.   She didn't tell her father about it ever again, though it came to her every night since the first.  Abriela wasn't certain, but she would of bet that the cause of it wasn't bad carrots.  

            Her younger days had been spent doing household chores and looking after her baby brothers.  She spent her nights in a sweat, being choked by yards and yards of sparkling golden threads of hair from her own head. This was all the life she knew.  

Her father worked as a tree cutter in the Great Forest.  The trees there were huge and she had always been proud of her strong father who was one of the great choppers and wood suppliers for their whole kingdom.  She loved him greatly, despite the fact that he was indeed a great fool.  Her father was one of the most needed men in the kingdom, but also one of the poorest.  He was a drinker and a gambler.  He loved his children, and had he known that his drinking would eventually hurt one of them, he would of stopped. Well, he might have stopped.  For you see, when Abriela's father became drunk he said the most incredibly stupid and self-destructive things.  Thus the reason he was so poor.  He would bet the local baker that he couldn't bake a cake that tasted of lemons, and then of course, because this was an incredibly stupid bet for everyone knows of and loves lemon cake, he would lose and would have to give the baker half his pay check for the week.  Things like this happened all the time.  But once, a week before Abriela's dreams started, he said the stupidest thing he had yet to say, and possibly that anyone has ever, or will ever say.  He said, to an apprentice of a great witch, that magic was utterly unneeded in today's modern world, that witches were a bunch of superstitious old hags, and that he has never feared and would never fear a person claiming to hold magic in his life.  Of course the young apprentice went straight to the witch and told her every word, using a special charm that let him imitate Abriela's father's voice and expressions perfectly. The witch was able to see all the disgust and dislike and skepticism that had consumed the old woodcutter's drunken face when he had said those incredibly idiotic words.  Every one knows that witch's hold grudges.  And this particular witch, hazel was her name but it was forgotten long ago and now everyone just called her witch, was particularly hostile toward people who were particularly hostile towards magic, and was always the best at holding grudges.  Needless to say, she was past angry toward the woodcutter.  In a fit of rage, she set off for his cottage.

            The cottage sat on the edge of the forest, on the edge of a cliff.  It was small yet cozy, clean yet cluttered, isolated yet full of friendly shadows and ghosts.  It was clear that it was comfortable with its inhabitants, and that its habitants were comfortable with it.  The woodcutter was walking up a shaded path whistling (there was also a certain amount of stumbling seeing as how he had just come back from the local pub).  Witch was disgusted.  This man was going home to his children, tipsy!  She crept closer. Flew actually.  She had taken the form of her favorite animal, the crow.  (When she was younger she had taken the form of the sparrow, but her old age had all but killed her frivolous side.)  She perched on the cottage window.                    *

A little girl sat at the small wooden table reading a book.  She was small with bright, curious gray eyes.  She was pretty, not incredibly gorgeous, and there was no sign that she would ever be so.  But, there was one characteristic that was absolutely breathtaking.  She had the shiniest, most beautiful golden hair that witch had seen in her long life.  It seemed to glow like sunlight and tumbled around her face, lightly sweeping her stooped shoulders. Witch was in awe; she could do nothing but stare as the little girl intently read her book. But then witch's trance-like state was interrupted by two very loud little creatures.  They were exactly alike in every way; from their curly, unruly, blonde hair, to their height, and even the way they ran.  _Twin boys_, thought witch disapprovingly.  One boy was more than enough as far as she was concerned.  Why did some people have to go and have an exact replica or something that would obviously turn out to be a little demon.  The little boys ran over to their sister and started pulling on her arms, dress, and hair.

"Ella, Ella!" whined one little boy

"Ella, daddy's home and he's sick again.  Ella when is supper?" said the other.

"Ella, will you read to us?  I want to read the book too."

"Ella, dinner!"

"Ella! Read to me!"  When Abriella could no longer ignore her siblings she stood up quickly, slamming the book and tossing her chin in the air.

"All right!"  Her voice was firm with authority.  "Supper is cooking.  I'll read to you after supper.  Where is our father?"  She looked from one boy to the other, hands on her hips, one tiny eyebrow lifted. 

Witch was shocked.  Such a small girl, no older than ten, no younger than six.  So young, yet she was like a little mother. Witch watched on in wonderment as Ella followed her brothers out the door and around the side of the cottage where their father lay… sleeping.  "See Ella."  Said one twin, running up to and kneeling beside his unconscious father.  "He's asleep.  He's sick again, or else he wouldn't be sleeping in the dirt."

"Go back inside."  Said Ella in a tiny voice.  The boys conceded.  She knelt down next to her father and smelled his breath.  Wincing, she stood up and walked to the well where she pulled up a bucket of water, which she poured over his head.  The woodcutter sat bolt upright, surprised at being wakened so suddenly and so wetly.

"Supper is ready," said little Ella, looking disapprovingly down at him.  She turned sharply on her toes and went back inside.  

As she passed the window in which Witch perched, she stopped.  She looked straight at Witch, blinked, looked again, then walked away.  Something about that bird was odd, something just wasn't right.  It seemed like the bird was watching her.  But of course that was a stupid thought.

Witch watched as the tiny girl walked away, golden hair glinting in the setting sun.  She would have the girl.  That drunken man did not deserve such a treasure.  No one did.  She would have to hide the girl away, protect her from those who would have that perfect creature be no more than a servant.  Witch endeavored to take the child that night, that instant even, but stopped before taking human form.  She had forgotten in her determined frenzy that she was now old.  She no longer possessed the strength she did when she was young; her powers were withered.  But never one to be deterred from something she most wanted, she took flight.  As she caught a wind that lifted her light body, sending it soaring high above the trees into the vast blue sky, she began formulate plans, to make decisions.  Witch looked forward to the day when she would save the child; when she could take her away from those who did not deserve her.    

            That night, for the first time in her life, Abriela dreamed.  She dreamt of golden strands of her own hair growing, and growing, and growing.  Growing until they were wrapped around her legs, and arms, and worst of all, her neck.  She awoke in a sweat, crying out.     

            Of course Abriela never knew of the circumstances before the beginning of her dreams.  Three years later she never knew that the crow had actually been watching her.  That it hadn't just been her imagination.  She had never even thought about it past that single moment in time. She never knew that ten years after her birth, she would once again look into those eyes, though in another form, and would lose the life she had always known.

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            Abriela crawled out of bed, dressed, combed her hair, and washed her face.  When she went into the warm, inviting kitchen she saw that her brothers had beaten her to the breakfast table and that their father was preparing to leave for work.  She cleaned up after her brothers and kissed her father on the cheek, wishing him a good prosperous day at work.  

            The front door of the small cottage flew open.  A woman, stooped and gnarled with age, stood in the doorway.  Her coarse gray hair hung over her hunched shoulders and to her feet in two wildly sloppy braids, which were tied at the ends with leather and raven feathers as black as death itself. Her eyes were set deep into her face, as if they were the sunken sockets of a skull.  They were black and bottomless, a stark contrast to the ghostly white face that surrounded them.    Her clothes were gray and old yet immaculately clean, and hung loose around her bony shoulders and hollowed stomach. Her small frame conveyed more strength than one would expect in one of her age, and her thin lips were set into a hard line of determination.  The determined line parted and let loose a voice deep and steady; a voice that knew what it wanted and held no doubts that it would get it.  

            "I came for the girl."  Said the old woman.  To which no one in the cottage had a reply.  The twins had fled under the table, Abriela stood in awe, and her father stood in front of her, his eyes wide, his heart thumping.  His fists clinched so hard that his fingernails cut into the callused flesh of his palms.  His body was tense and his mind was filled with foreboding.  "Abriella is it?" asked the old woman.  "Come to me child."  She held out her hand to the girl; bony fingers beckoning, sharp nails, pointed and jagged.

            Abriella wanted to scream.  She wanted to run away, but found herself taking first one step then another toward the strange intruder.  She saw her father out of the corner of her eye, standing stiff as a statue, captive energy coursing through his body like an electric current.  She took the old woman's hand and was slightly surprise at how soft it was, the skin like silk under her own work hardened hands.  Abriella wanted with all her heart to pull away, to run back to her father whose presence she felt like a single strong ray of sunshine on a bleak winter's day.  But she could not.  She looked into the cold black eyes of the old woman and saw but a glimpse of what taking this woman's hand had meant.  She shuddered and felt a single tear roll down her cheek as the small cottage that was her home, her whole world dissipated right from under her, and she went spinning into blackness.  

            The old woodcutter stood helpless as he watched his daughter mechanically step forward and take the woman's hand.  Then they were gone; his little golden Abriella and the strange, evil woman.  The twins crawled out from under the table, running to the comfort of their father's arms.  The old woodcutter, the one who used to have a daughter he called Ella, started to cry.

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            Abriella stopped spinning and the total blackness that surrounded her lessened to shadows and shades of black and gray.  Giant trees loomed above her and the faint sound of crunching leaves carried to her ears.  The silky hand still held her own fear overwhelmed her soul.  For this fear, she never talked, not once even to ask where she was, or who it was that had taken her from her family.  And why.  Though the fear did not keep her from thinking them.  She pondered them for the eternity that they walked through that massive and dark forest.  She pondered them until her brain numbed and she no longer cared.  

            Then a strong force was pulling her back, forcing her to stop.  She turned her gaze behind her and up at her strange abductor, the woman with the steel gray hair and bottomless eyes.  "Abriella," said the woman, trying to comfort the frightened girl, "You are home now."  She pointed a bony finger upward.  Abriella's gaze follow the finger up a massive tree with a pointed top that was so tall that it's tip seemed to touch the stars.  The young girl turned back to look at the old woman, communicating her confusion by a single look.  "Look again." Said the woman.  And Abriella did.  This time, she found not a tree, but a great tower.  Row upon row of cold gray stone circled upward and upward, ending in a pointed roof made of gold.  There was no door, that Abriella could see from her side of the tower, and when the old witch (as Abriella now knew she must be) walked her around the tower's perimeter she found there to be no door at all.  

            The old witch smiled at the young girl, noticing how her golden hair illuminated the wood.  She knelt down on one knee in front of her new ward and took both her shoulders in her hands.  "Ella." She said softly, using the familiar name in hopes of comforting her.  "This is to be your home now.  This tower.  I made it especially for you.  It's a magical tower of course.  For you have realized that I must be a witch.  And I am going to keep you here, to keep you safe, and you will have no one but me, and I will have no one but you.  And together we shall keep each other company.  But you must never leave me.  I won't let you.  That is what the tower is for.  While it will supply for you whatever your little heart wishes, it will never let you out without my consent.  And I will not give it.  This world is too mean, too ugly for a child such as you.  Do you understand me Ella?"

            "What about my father, and my brothers, will I ever see them again?"  spoke little Abriella for the first time since her abduction.  "I miss them, I love them."  She had tears in her eyes as she spoke these words, and do not think that they didn't affect witch (for we must know by now that it is she, the same witch named witch who the wood cutter offended those three years ago), for they did.  

            "Oh child," said witch with much emotion in her deep voice.  "They did not deserve you."  And taking the weeping child into her arms, the kneeling figure of witch embracing the golden haired girl vanished like no more than a bit of mist.  

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            Ten years passed slowly in the room at the top of the tower; the first filled with pain and tears, the last filled with impatience and frustration, all filled with a strange mix of loneliness and companionship that both plagued and pleased the tower's occupants.  Witch proudly watched as her tiny pretty captive grew into a woman of beauty so great it was almost painful to see.  Her eyes were a deep sapphire blue and her features soft and delicate.  Her tanned, callused skin had softened to a pale pink that darkened in her cheeks whenever daydreaming.  She was tall and slim and as graceful as the wind.  Yes, Abriella was indeed a rare beauty in every aspect, but still her hair shone above all her other features.  It glittered in the sunlight and illuminated the dark.  

            Witch obsessed over it.  She came to the tower three times a day to brush it for Abriella, bringing with her each time a new bobble, or jewel to pin in it.  She would stroke it, braid it, twist it, play with it for hours at a time, but never cut it.  Not once in those ten years was Abriella's hair cut.  When it grew to her legs she asked, "Witch, would you cut my hair for me?"  And Witch flew into a rage.  She threw things about, sent things hurling out the single tiny window, stamped her feet, and howled in languages little Abriella did not understand.  Then Witch left.  She didn't come back for three days, and when she finally did, she looked Abriella straight in the eye and said in a cold manacing voice, "You will never cut your hair.  Do you hear me?  I forbid it."  Abriella heard, and obeyed, not wanting to ever see her guardian in such a state again.  So her hair grew to her feet and past, falling in silken mounds on the floor next to wherever she sat.    

            The girl had at first been scared of the witch.  She would often cry and ask to be taken back to her father and brothers.  The witch never yelled at Abriella, never fumed and punished her for her sorrow.  No, witch sat quietly beside the small girl, rubbing her silky bone like hands round and round in comforting circles on her back.  She sat quietly until the young girl, thirsty for human conversation of any kind, even with the witch who took her from her family, forgave her enough not to hate her. 

The girl and witch became close over ten years.  The girl became like a daughter to the witch and the witch like a grandmother to the girl.  They loved each other, for they had no one else to love.  After the first year or so, Abriella never mentioned her old family again. But that did not mean that she never thought of them.  They lived in her dreams and daydreams, they lived like ghosts in the shadows of her tower room, in the depths of the forest surrounding her.  Though she learned to love her captor, for Witch loved Abriella also, she never forgot or stopped loving her father and brothers.  

            The tower was bewitched.  To her and witch it was a Tower, to others who happened to pass by, it was a tree.  No one ever saw its true appearance, no one ever really looked.  And Abriella never tried to talk to the travelers who passed by her high tower window.  To her they were strangers who might take her away from the only family she possessed: Witch.  And Witch fed this fear.  Not wanting to lose her child, and determined to protect her, she filled her with stories about the evil of man, the horrors of society.  And Abriella never became curious about the world outside her tower.  

            Until her eighteenth birthday.  "Witch," she asked, "May I have a book to read?  Like the ones I used to read as a child?"  And witch could never refuse her requests.  But she might had she known what type of books Abriella had been want to read as a child.  

            "I must go for the day Ella, but as it is your birthday, you may have it.  You'll find them in your trunk after I've gone."  The trunk was magic.  It did not work by doing Witch's bidding, but rather by reading the mind of its mistress, Abriella.  Whatever she wanted, the trunk graciously supplied.  This time, when Ella opened the trunk, she lifted out one very large red book.  On the cover, in gold cursive writing it read _Fairy Stories._  Running her fingers across the wording, Abriella felt a shiver down her spine and quickening of her heart.  She remembered these from long ago, from the little cottage in the forest on the cliff.  

            The stories inside told Abriella of a world much different from the one that Witch had told her of. True, it was a place of danger and evil.  But good always prevailed, love always conquered evil.  No one was alone.  She read the stories day and night, memorizing and keeping each in her heart.  But they made her restless.  She wanted more, she wanted freedom from the tower that had been her home for half her life.  But she never told Witch.  For that would be to hurt her.  And this she couldn't do.  So she sat day after day, staring out her window, watching the tree's shadows move from one side to the other as the sun moved across the sky.  And she dreamed; now more than ever she invented places and people who she had never seen or met, whom she was quite sure she never would.          

            One day, while Witch was braiding Abriella's long, long hair, she jumped up rather quickly, startled by some unseen menace.  "What is it Witch?"  asked Abriella, a worried look on her face.

            "Nothing child, just a bit of urgent business I must attend to.  I'll be back." And leaving behind nothing but a faint outline that faded quickly and quietly, Witch disappeared from the room.  Abriella went straight to her window where she commenced to stare out into the trees and dream dreams that sank her heart.  She stayed there for quite some time before her reverie was interrupted.

            "Excuse me."  Bellowed a deep melodic voice from somewhere down below.  "But could you tell me exactly how you came to be in a tower in the middle of a forest?"              Startled, Abriella looked down.  _He can't be talking to me,_ she thought.  _He can't even see me. _ She stared down at the man.  For a man she realized it to be.  There was no telling his height from up in her perch at the top of the tower, and his features were also fairly blurred, but his hair glinted like gold in the sun and he wore fine, expensive clothes.  

            "Hey, you there, young lady,"  he said. "How did you come to be at the top of that tower?  There is no door down here."  

            "Are you speaking to me?"

            "Why, yes.  Who else would I be speaking to?"

            "You can see me?"  Then more to herself, "But how?"

            "Of course I can see you. You're not invisible you know."

            "But, the tower doesn't seem like a tree to you?"         

            "No!  Are you daft or something?"  

            _Witch must have left in such a hurry that she forgot something, or tore some of the magic in her hast to leave here,_ Abriella thought. "What is your name?" she asked the young man below her.

            "Prince Timothy of North Kingdom.  Of course.  But you do live at the top of an inaccessible tower so I should forgive you for not knowing me."  He said this with such an air of superiority that made Abriella's smooth brow knit together and her sapphire eyes glint with disgust.  "And you are?" he asked.

            "Abriella," she said confidently before her better sense could check herself.  She wasn't supposed to talk to strangers.  Well, she didn't think she was supposed to.  She had never been in this situation before.  "I… I live here."

            "Oh you do? Well, how did you get in?  There is no door down here?"

            "A witch put me in.  She lives here with me."

            "You live in a tower with a witch?"

            "Yes."

            "Then you must be in need of a rescuer," said the prince with a confident air to his already confident voice.

            "No, not really.  But thank you."

            "Don' t be silly, of course you need rescuing.  And I will do it."

            Abriella was quickly tiring of the Prince's insistence and wanted to get rid of him.  "Dear Prince Timothy," she said in her fakest voice.  "If but only you could rescue me, but I fear my captor shall be back any second and I dare not pit you against her evil and powerful magic.  She will surely kill you, then whatever would I do?"  The speech had done the trick. 

            "Fair maiden," said the Prince.  "I must away for a while, but I will return for you.  This I promise."  And with final wave to Abriella, he mounted his horse and rode off into the forest.  

            When Witch came back that evening Abriella did not tell her about the Prince and the tear in the tower's magic.  She should have, she knew this, but she didn't.  She waited all night and several weeks for Witch to notice the tear herself and to fix it, but this occurance never came.  Witch was growing weaker, though Abriella did not know this, and could not maintain all the magic she used to be able to on the tower.  

            Abriella grew more restless day by day.  She had never thought of rescue before, of escape, but Timothy's proposal had affected every nerve ending in her body.  She felt the need to leave with every inch of her now. She wanted to explore the world, to have adventures.  And though she loved Witch, she felt it time to leave her.  Maybe, she thought in her darkest and most secret thoughts, she'd try to find her father and brothers.  But she never told Witch any of this.  And it killed Abriella to keep it secret. One morning, after she had dreamed all night of climbing out the window, down a rope to freedom, she found a very interesting item in the magic trunk: a very long, very strong length of rope.  Abriella had realized quite a while back that Witch's hold on the tower was weakening, but that the trunk had actually supplied her with a means to escape astounded her.  She wasted away several weeks with the rope hidden under her mattress, a burning coil in her back as she slept.  

            She couldn't get out of the forest on her own.  She could get down from the tower with the rope, but she could never escape that maze of trees.  But if she was with Prince Timothy…

            She began to pray that the Prince would keep his word and come back.  It was her only hope, the only thing she wanted.  And he did come.  One dark night, when no stars dared peek out over the rain clouds, Prince Timothy's horse clopped up to the tower wall.  The Prince dismounted and threw back his head, calling, "Abriella, Abriella!  Show me your beauteous face!"  The call woke the sleeping Abriella instantly and she rushed to her window and peered over the edge and down into the blackness where the voice was coming from.

            "Prince Timothy?"

            "Yes my love, it is I.  Your Prince whom has come to rescue you from the terrible Witch."  

            Abriella lifted her mattress pulled and out the rope.  Tying it to her solid bedpost, she threw it over the edge of her window and watched it fall with much apprehension.  What if she fell too?  Wouldn't it be much safer to just stay with Witch, to just stay in the tower?  She needed courage.  _Too bad I can't find that in the trunk_, she thought. But then something, idle fancy probably, made her push open the lid to the all providing piece of furniture.  There, sitting on the barren wooden bottom of the chest, was a single white envelope.  The single word, Ella, was scrawled in spidery handwriting across the front.  Sitting in a chair, Abriella opened the envelope and pulled out a piece of thick cream colored paper covered in the same spidery writing.  _Ella_ it said,

            _I know what you are about to do.  My magic has not failed so much as you think.  I know you long for more than I can give you here.  I know that I cannot protect you forever.  Ella, my time on this world will soon come to an end, and I must make sure that you can survive in this hard world on your own.  This cannot happen if I keep you in our happy tower any longer.  I know you plan to leave, and I let you.  Go with my blessing.._

_                                                                              Witch_

Abriella stood up with tears in her eyes.  She kissed the paper and let it fall to the bottom of the trunk.  She was about to climb out the window and down the rope when she noticed a break in the stone wall that had never been there before.  Drying her eyes and focusing on the farthest wall from her, she soon discerned the form of a wooden door.  Tentatively, she stepped over to it and turned the golden handle.  It moved freely in it's socket and clicked.  The door swung open to reveal a small corridor and a set of steep, spiraling stairs.  Abriella descended them, coming, after what seemed an eternity, to a door just like the one that had appeared in her chamber.  It too opened easily.  

            Prince Timothy stood, head craned back, hand shading his eyes, looking up at Abriella's now empty window.  "Prince…" she said tentatively.  He turned around, startled.  

            "What!  How did you?!"

            "Magic.  She let me go." 

            "What!  An evil witch never lets her captive go," said he, as if the thought of it offended him.

            "She wasn't an evil witch!  She was my family."  She threw the Prince a look full of venom, then changed her mind, softened her features, and threw him a dazzling smile.  "You will of course take me to the nearest town?  I am ever grateful for your rescuing me."

            "Of course your are! And of course I will!  I am not such a cad as all that! And you are perfectly welcome my Lady."  He was enjoying just looking at Abriella, her beauty astounded him, and quite frankly, he planned on making her his wife and queen.      The prince could not take his eyes off the long, flowing, golden tresses that fell gracefully, like a waterfall reflecting sunlight, down her slim height, ending in a soft, still pool at her feet.  He wanted to reach out and gently stroke a strand, to wind it round his fingers and arms, to see if it was, as he believed, quite possibly the softest silkiest thing in the world.  "Your hair, Lady Abriella."

            "Yes?"

            "Well, it's unusually long." was all he could manage while entangled in an admiring stupor.

 Abriella looked back at her hair, she was standing a good three feet away from the doorway and it was still leading into the tower.  Then pulled it toward her, gathering it in her arms.  It gathered dirt and leaves as she drug it across the forest floor, and lost some of its luster.  But neither Prince nor newly freed maiden noticed.  

            "I suppose it is," said Abriella as the Prince helped her onto his horse and mounted it himself.  A whole world of opportunities and adventures lay before her, possibilities seemed boundless.  The world was hers.  She smiled at the Prince.  He was rather goofy looking and not at all the brightest lad she had ever imagined.  She hoped he wouldn't cause too much trouble when she left him at the first town they came to.  For Abriella had no intentions of staying with her "rescuer."  She would find her own path in life, follow her own dreams to a new beginning.  _And I just might start_, she thought, _by cutting my hair._


	2. Running away sounds nice

I've had trouble starting this, so it's taken a while.  I've also been busy with my other story, Crush.  But this is a more challenging story to write so I'm looking forward to working it out.  I hope you enjoy it enough to wait a tiny bit for me to write it up.  Thanks to my few readers.  You're great.  

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Noise was everywhere.  Gone was the busy chirp of birds, gone was the secretive wind whispering through the trees, gone were all the comforting and silent sounds she had known in the forest.  Abriella had not known the sound of carts, horses, trading, the general din of the city for ten years, and now it all came over her in an engulfing wave.  Prince Timothy sat silent and rigid in front of her and the horse underneath her felt foreign.  The horse picked its way confidently through the bustling city; nose thrust to the sky, eyes glancing contemptibly down at the peasants scurrying quickly away from his heavy, crushing hooves.  It was a marvelous imitation of the prince; the same contemptuous glare, the same mightier-than-all bearing.    Unsure of herself, afraid of all the sights she had not seen for years, she clung near to the prince.  She hated feeling weak, she had been captive beyond her control for ten years and now the unknowns of the world held her captive with fear.  

The horse reared up, a small child running across his careless path screamed, wide eyed, paralyzed.  A mother ran toward the child as the horse grew tall on his hind legs.  Abriella lost her grip and landed with a thud on the hard cobblestone street.  Prince Timothy remained on top of his rearing horse, yelling at the child, furious with the mother for neglecting her duty.  When Abriella could breath again, she pulled herself up to a sitting position just in time to witness the child being pulled from the street by the mother.  The child was in tears and the mother's cheeks were red with shame from the prince's chastisements.  Prince Timothy stopped yelling when he realized that his passenger was no longer with him.  

"Princess Abriella?  Are you ok?" he said haughtily.  Then turning from her, added in an insufferable voice, "If this lady is injured in anyway wench, you will be severely punished."

"Wait, no…" spoke Abriella, "It's not her fault. I'm not injured.  Don't be angry with her… or the child.  I'm alright."  She was still sitting, in a dusty pool of her long hair, feeling rather silly, and not actually sure whether she was all right or not.  

"Do not make excuses for a mere peasant!  And it is not befitting of princesses to sit in the middle of the street.  Stand up!" ordered the gallant prince.  Abriella stood up delicately, wondering when she had become a princess.  Each time the prince spoke, a little of her fear dissipated.  He was really an insufferable creature; the sound of his voice made the hectic noise of the village sound almost heavenly.  She knew that she did not plan to stay with the prince.  She would one day, soon if it was up to her, lose herself in this city until she could find means of travel.  She knew not where she would travel when that future day came, but that there would be a freedom in it that she had only ever dreamed of since she was ten years old.  She met the disapproving blue eyes of the prince and took his hand to remount the horse, wishing she could be as far from him as she could be.  But, she reminded herself, he is just a means to an end, he couldn't be very much trouble.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            "Prince Timothy has returned from his 'secret' mission." Laughed a tall lanky youth, no younger than seventeen.  He slapped a taller, darker man on the back and matched his long steps to keep up with him.  Together they walked down the main street of the small kingdom of Galian, dodging traders and market goers, soldiers and mothers.

            "Oh really?  And has he brought back the greatest treasure of all?  Like he promised?"  Laughed the other man.  

            "Well, I guess that's debatable, Evan.  But I saw them when they entered Galian's border forest, and… Prince Tim certainly brought back something."  The younger boy was enjoying his little secret.

            "Them?  He left by himself."

            "Aren't you the sharp observer.  Yes he left by himself, but he's brought someone back with him."

            "Witches tooth, Christopher!  Just out and tell me who it was!  Why do you enjoy playing these little games?!"  Christopher did not tell his friend, but showed him, pointing a finger to what appeared to be a small disturbance at the far end of the street.  Evan looked past the everyday sights to fix his attention on the regal form of the prince and his horse.  The prince was looking at the ground, but what the prince was looking at was blocked by a gathering crowd.  Then, from among the dingy, dust covered heads of the masses, arose a golden creature.  She dusted her dress off, and put her hand into the prince's as he pulled her up behind him.  The onlookers quickly scurried away, afraid of the prince's contemptuous gaze and merciless temper, and Evan stared, dumbfounded, at the young girl seated behind prince Timothy. Or rather, he stared at her hair.  It was bright golden, shining, and long.  Long was an understatement.  Her braided tresses fell past the horse's rear end and were dragging along behind her in the street.  Realizing this, she gathered the braid up, looping it over her arm.  "Well," said Evan to Christopher, "who is she?  And where did the prince find her?"

            "Did you see her hair?  I've never seen hair that color, or that long."  And Christopher hadn't.  For a lady to wear her hair past her knees was quite common, but never had he seen hair that drug the floor and lay in pools at a woman's feet.  "Where do you think she's from?  She has to be a princess."

            "No Princess I've ever met.  And my father's thrown me at all of them.  Thankfully for me, they're all interested in my single cousin, the very eligible Prince   
Timothy."

            "Watch yourself Evan.  Looks like the prince might not be eligible for much longer.  Then I'm sure those lovely maiden's attentions will settle on you."

            "Rather, _for_ me.  And God, Chris, don't say such things.  If I ever caught any of those power hungry, evil-spirited wretches so much as looking at me hungrily the way they look at my _worthy_ cousin, I'd have to… to…"

            "Kill yourself?"

            "Certainly not man!  But I'd have to do something drastic.  Running away sounds nice. And certainly less painful and damning than killing myself."  Christopher laughed at his friend's seriousness towards the matter and quickened his steps to overtake Evan.  

            "I'm heading towards the palace.  You know that usually I run from the palace as soon as Timothy comes back from one of his "adventures" but I have to admit, the golden haired maiden has caught my attention.  Don't tell me you're not intrigued."

            "Hardly.  But I'll come with you.  Nothing better to do anyway."  The two men walked a little quicker towards the gray castle looming before them wondering about the prince's treasure.


	3. What is it with you people? What sort of...

            Not even in the pages of her fairy books had Abriella seen such riches and extravagance.  Thick, vibrant tapestries hung along the brown stonewalls, soft, intricate carpets padded the cold stone floors.  The candle sconces were cold, encrusted in every color and type jewel imaginable, and some beyond the imagination.  The room where she was escorted, rather quickly, was furnished with dark oak desks and chairs, polished so that you could see your face in them. 

            There was a man standing behind one of these desks, the biggest and shiniest desk, and he was as rich and extravagant as the castle.  A large golden crown sat precariously atop his graying head, and his large caterpillar eyebrows drew together in some negative emotion that Abriella could not foresee.  He was a short man, shorter than the Prince, who was as tall as Abriella, who was not the tallest creature ever to have lived.  The caterpillars shot upward, and the King's faded, thin lips parted to speak.

            "Timothy… who is this?"  Abriella was about to introduce herself, when the prince interjected.

            "The Princess Abriella.  An enchanted princess, forced to live in a tower for fifty years.  I rescued her, and now she is pledged to be my bride.  Her kingdom has long since fallen to greater armies, vaster empires, and she is friendless, hopeless, without me."  Abriella's mouth fell open, her eyes grew huge.  She most definitely was not fifty years old!  And she had never been a princess.  Her father had been a woodsman, her mother a barmaid.  The very thought of royal blood running in her veins was laughable.  Even if she knew of her heritage, which she didn't, she was sure her ancestors were nothing but woodsmen and barmaids since the beginning of time.  And she was about to say so when the old king spoke once more.

            "Really.  She's quite the looker isn't she?  Hair's unusually long."  Abriella felt like a horse or cow being examined before being bought.  She didn't like the feeling, and she would have said so if she hadn't been interrupted. 

            "Yes, she has beautiful hair," said the prince.  "I've never seen hair that color before."

            "Yes, almost blinding.  And you're going to marry her?"

            "Yes.  You have no problems with it I assume.  Not that I would care if you did.  I shall do as I please, as I always have.  Where is mother?"  The Prince said all this in a single breath, jumping from point to point, from thought to thought, with an illogical stream that baffled Abriella.  But Prince Timothy's father seemed to follow him quite fine. 

            "No, no problems with it whatsoever.  Your mother is still sleeping.  Though it is past noon.  She has always preferred her bed to actual life."  And then for the first time, the king actually addressed Abriella.  "When do you get up in the mornings?  Glenda doesn't usually rise till one or two hours after noon.  Useless."  Abriella was about to answer that she was usually an early riser when the prince yelled at his father.

            "Do not waste her time with such trite questions.  She is exhausted from her journey and whole ordeal and must rest now.  I might see you at dinner tonight father." And with that, Prince Timothy pulled Abriella from the room, mouth hanging open, words, unsaid, on the tip of her tongue.  She matched her pace to his as he escorted her down a long hallway, where she was finally able to let loose the flow of words that had fallen unspoken on her lips. 

            "Are you taking me to a room?  To sleep?"  There was so much that had just happened that she had no idea what to respond to first. 

            "No, we're going to meet my mother," replied the prince.

            "But you said" she was cut off.

            "No, I said nothing that implied you were to waste your time sleeping.  There are more important things to be done."

            "You never asked me to marry you."  The Prince stopped his rapid walk, and turned sharply to face his self-proclaimed bride to be. 

            "What are you saying?"  His tone was sharp and dangerous, but it only gave courage to Abriella.

            "You introduced me as your fiancé, and you've never said one word to me about it.  I've just met you.  We don't know one thing about each other, let alone love each other.  How can we marry?" 

            "I am the prince, you are a beautiful maiden, whom I've rescued, what else is supposed to happen?"

            "You did not rescue me.  Witch let me go."

            "Witches don't let people go!  Are you insane?  You were in desperate danger and I rescued you!"

            "Desperate danger!?  You are the one who is insane!"  Abriella realized that she had said the wrong thing when she felt the hard cold surface of the wall slam against her back.  The prince held her throat in a vice like grip, his fingers pressing into the fragile white of her neck. 

            "I would not say such things if I were you." There was a lethal note to his voice that chilled her very soul.  Closing her eyes, she pushed back the fearful cries that pressed to escape, and slightly, with as much movement as he would allow, motioned with a slight head nod that she understood him.  Abruptly losing his grip and stepping back, he brushed his clothes off, as if cleaning dust off himself, and turned to face the dark expanse of hallway.  "Now," he said, "let us go visit mother.  She'll be delighted to meet my lovely bride."

            Evan and Christopher had managed to enter the castle without running into either Evan's father or his older brother Geoff, both of whom were likely to waste their time with boring lectures on propriety and official royal business.  Neither young man wished to be forced into such encounters when there was a new intrigue about; namely the longhaired beauty whom Timothy had brought home.  After inquiring over the prince's whereabouts with a castle guard, they headed off towards the King's office chambers, intent on being a part of whatever action was unfolding there. 

            But their luck ran out. 

            "Excuse me," a chambermaid, one of the queen's in fact, rushed at them from some hidden hallway.  "Lord Evan!  The Queen has heard of your return to the castle and has expressed a desire for your company."

            "Well what if I have no desire for her company?"  Evan raised an inquiring eyebrow, but then dismissed his rebellious thoughts when he saw the look of horror that passed over the poor girl's face.  She would probably be screamed at, beaten, or worse, if she did not deliver what she had been set out to bring back.  He could not do that to the girl.  Even if it meant sacrificing himself.  With a great heave of a sigh, he resigned himself to his wretched fate, and followed the chambermaid into the lavishly decorated Queen's Rooms.     

            The Queen lay in bed, as usual, drowning in gauzy fabrics and scented perfumes.  She was a large woman, whose only daily activity was when she got up to go to the privy.  But she had once been a beauty.  That was still obvious, though years of pampering and laziness had robbed her of her slim figure.  Her hair was long and blonde, her eyes a pale, ghostly blue. 

            "Good afternoon Aunt Glenda," said Evan, stepping into the room and taking a seat that was a comfortable and far distance from the bed on which the Queen lay.  Christopher, having no royal blood whatsoever, stayed standing at the door, as was proper.  As Evan's squire, he was to go where Evan went, but because he came from common descent, he had to keep his distance from royalty whenever the situation arose. 

            "Evan," sang the Queen, "You have been away for so long.  Surely you will come closer so that your Queen may see how you've grown into a big strong man."  She was looking at Evan in the way that Evan had never particularly liked, the way she had looked at him, ever since the work he did with sword and horse had begun to show in his appearance.  Two things had become increasingly important to the Queen.  One, that she and Evan were not blood related, and two, that he not call her aunt.  And so he did, of course, call her aunt every single time he addressed her.  To remind her that such titles mattered very much to him, and that such distinctions as blood aunt or not did not matter at all. An aunt was an aunt, no matter what. 

            "I am comfortable here Aunt Glenda, and I have not changed a bit since I was eighteen years old."

            "Come now Evan, we must forget such formal titles as 'aunt'.  Really, you'll make a young woman feel old."

            "But you've been my aunt since I was born I'm afraid, so I have no option but to address you as such, unless you find Queen Glenda more appropriate."  He smothered a cocky smile and stifled his temptation to tease her and bate her as he had when he was young and just beginning to realize that she wasn't perhaps the smartest person in the world. 

            The Queen did not like the direction this conversation was going.  It was not as she had planned.  So she changed her tactics.  She had bated many a man to her bed by trickery and was not above it now.  Signaling a servant, she had a plate of pastries put in front of her young, handsome nephew.  "You must be exhausted and starving after your journey. Why not have a bite to eat."

            Exhausted?  Starving!  Evan had been back in town for two weeks now.  He almost laughed out loud at the queen's preposterous presumption that he had come to see her as soon as he had returned.  "No thank you my aunt, but I am as always, grateful for your overwhelming hospitality."  Evan was starting to feel anxious.  The queen was leering at him in a very uncomfortable fashion and Christopher was holding back snickering over by the door. 

            The door opened, and stately and noisily, Prince Timothy entered the room.  He was closely followed by the golden haired beauty.  Evan forgot his discomfort, though it should have been increased at being found at a personal interlude with the Queen, and focused completely on the mysterious girl.  She looked frightened.  Why did she look frightened?  He had never seen a scared princess before.  They were so entirely self-assured and overwhelmingly confidant that they never feared anything.  Or else they were too stupid to be scared. 

            "Mother!" exclaimed the prince, "how are you?"

            "Just having a little conversation with your cousin, newly returned from some grand adventure or another."  Prince Timothy acknowledged his cousin's presence for the first time.

            "Hello Evan.  I didn't know you had been sent anywhere."

            "I wasn't. I went of my own accord."  Evan spoke absentmindedly, noticing that the girl stood silently behind the prince, head bowed, gaze on the floor.  "But cousin, I believe you're forgetting something of some importance."

            "Oh?  Really?  What would that be?"

            Evan motioned to the rigid form standing behind the prince, with the pool of dazzling hair that flowed behind her. "Would you like to introduce us to your new friend?  Or are we to guess her name and how she came to be here with you today?"

            The Prince laughed.  "This is the Princess Abriella.  I rescued her from a witch, and now she has agreed to be my bride."  Everyone in the room looked anew at the quiet girl standing behind the prince.  The queen looked suspiciously, she never trusted any woman with her son; she knew what it was that women wanted and that they, as she had, would do anything to get it.  Power, money, fame, all could be obtained by a pretty face.  And this girl was very pretty. All the more reason not to trust her. 

            Evan looked more closely at her, trying to see signs of abuse from some magic villain, trying to see some maidenly blush at the announcement of her engagement, trying to see some sort of happiness or excitement, anything except for this outer show of fear and uncertainty. 

            Christopher gaped openly.  He knew that the prince's bride would be beautiful, but he had no idea that Prince Timothy, King of all Jerks, would end up marrying the most beautiful woman in the world.  It was insane.  In the end, Christopher decided that she must be just as horrible as the prince, and was satisfied with his judgment.     

            Abriella squirmed.  She had never been scrutinized by so many people before.  It was decidedly uncomfortable.   

            The queen spoke first, breaking the contemplative silence that had fell upon the inhabitants of the royal chambers.  "Step closer girl.  And lift your chin.  Someone might think that you are some timid chamber maid the way you hang you head.  Where's your pride?  You are a princess!"  The queen scrutinized the this new threat.  She was undeniably beautiful.  Her face was soft and seemed to be untouched; by time, by talking, by human contact, by the world.  There was a slight glaze of tears over her crystal blue eyes, and the queen knew that she had probably already been properly introduced to her son's habits.  No, the girl was not the most beautiful the queen had ever seen.  Though her hair, her hair pushed her beauty over the edge.  Where she would merely have been considered a pretty girl, verging on beautiful, her hair made her devastatingly gorgeous.  And Queen Glenda was not comfortable with this at all. 

            But something nagged at her.  There was something about the princess, not just her beauty, that bothered the Queen.  What was it?  If only she could pinpoint it, she would be able to relax.  But it, whatever it was eluded her.  She grew tired of the distractions.  Even though she loved her son, and knew she should keep an eye on the new golden haired power seeker, there was something she wanted far more at the moment.  And he, she saw from the corner of her eye, was walking toward the door.  While she had been deep in thought, staring at Princess Abriella who was now obediently staring at some point on the ceiling, her nephew and her son, who had never liked each other really, had gotten into an argument.  She wasn't sure of the details, just that their voices had risen to spectacular heights before nephew Evan had started to stomp toward the door.

            "Evan!  Wait dear boy, where are you going?  We've barely begun renewing our acquaintance!"  He didn't hear her.  Or he didn't care.  He was a stupid boy really, but just so deliciously handsome with all that dark hair and those unusual green eyes. 

            The queen didn't notice when everyone else filed out after Evan's stormy departure.  She was hardly even aware that the world still went on, that life still insisted on being lived.  Nothing in the world existed except for a pair of deep green eyes.     


	4. I've always wanted my life to be a fairy...

This is very short, but it is the beginning of getting me back into writing this story. I've lost site of it what with essays to write for school and the sequel I'm writing for my story Crush and another story I'm writing about Pride and Prejudice. But I've discovered it, and delightedly decided what to do with it. So this is short and sweet, but is really just to segue into all the action that is about to start. Stuff is about to hit the fan my friends. I hope you haven't lost interest after it and me being idle for so long. Sorry, and I promise to do better in the future… don't hold me to that.

* * *

Abriella had been shown to a very large, very sumptuous room in which she immediately sat down and convinced herself that her situation was not that bad. However, she was now more than ever convinced that she must escape. The scene in the hallway with the Prince had shaken her, and the cold look in his mother's eyes had certainly not been a comfort. She had wished since her imprisonment in the tower for nothing more than to be out, to be caught up in dangerous, exciting adventures, now she'd come to the conclusion that dangerous and exciting weren't exactly the same thing.

"I'll just leave," she said out loud to herself. She had made a habit of filling the sometimes-numbing silence of the tower with her own voice. It had often floated out her window and echoed through the forest, making her feel less lonely. There was no echo now. As soon as the words passed her lips they halted in the cold castle air. In a castle she assumed must be filled with more people than she'd been around in ten years, she was more alone than she had ever been. With this devastating conclusion, she threw herself face down on the pile of pillows at the head of the bed, and cried herself to sleep.

* * *

The next few days were a blur of activity. The prince was always hovering somewhere in Abriella's vicinity, the king was always yelling at a servant, the prince, the queen, or at her, the queen was always glancing coldly in Abriella's direction when she was not desperately trying to gain the attentions of some man.

Abriella had at first been amazed by all that there had been to look at in the castle. Looking at things, people, observing, began to be a way to escape her unhappiness about being trapped with such people. From observing, she now knew that the queen rarely went to bed alone, but never went to bed with the king. She had at first been appalled by this piece of observation, and even now the knowing of it made her dislike the queen even more, but she learned quickly to ignore such things, as everyone else did. Everyone knew the queen was unfaithful, but everyone acted as if they didn't know.

Another observation Abriella had made about the queen also concerned Prince Timothy's cousin, Lord Evan. He was perhaps the most handsome man Abriella had ever seen, and in some ways, reminded her of the image of her father that she held so deeply in her memories. And Abriella was not the only one to notice Evan's good looks. The queen was also somewhat the admirer, and though Abriella admired in secret, the queen admired quite openly. She flirted and gazed and made a fool of herself over the young man who paid her little or no attention.

In truth, Abriella did not understand why the young man spent so much time with his royal family. He obviously did not care for them. He spent half his time glaring disdainfully at his cousin and uncle, and the other half running from his aunt. But, Evan seemed to always be at the castle.

Abriella pondered all this one day while she was sitting at a window, being instructed in the fine art of needlepoint. Her fingers were soar from poking them with the needle so many times, and the simple design in red thread on the white background looked like nothing at all. She sighed and turned to look out the window. It seemed that even in her escape, she was once more trapped, and looking out of windows to a world beyond that she could not reach. Though this view was much more interesting, there was no peace in the bustle of castle life, no beauty in the dust strewn streets and songless world of the city. There was only noise, and chaos, and discomfort.

She remembered now, not the tower and forest, but the little cottage she had lived the first ten years of her life in. It had set on a cliff in a little wood. Its thatched roof had leaked a bit in the spring, and well sometimes ran dry in the summer, but it had always been a haven for her. A place of safety and dreams, a place of love and hope. She wanted to find it, to go back there and throw her arms around her father and brothers. She could only imagine them as she last saw them, and not as aging man with gray at his temples that her father must be, and the strapping lads of eighteen that her brothers surely were.

She pulled her mind away from such dangerous thoughts as tears began to pull at her eyes. She would not cry. She had determined this after her second day in the castle when the Prince had pulled her by her hair into the dinning hall to have breakfast with the royal family after she had said that she was not hungry that morning.

She had cried all the way down the hall, and all during breakfast. She had cried after that for hours in her room. Not even witch had been so cruel to her. And her well-intentioned father most certainly had never thought of laying a hurtful hand to her. She cried until she had no more tears left, then lay in silence for hours more. When she emerged from her coma like state, she had made the promise to herself that she would never cry again. Life would throw at her what it may and she would not balk at it. It was simply life, and life was cruel.


	5. Love of my life, let down your lustrous ...

"The wedding is set then, son?"

"Yes. One week from this very day. I've been told the wedding dress is about ready. That is all we are waiting on father." The prince had to almost yell this sentence down the long table the royal family sat at for breakfast.

Abriella wondered why, if they wished to have conversation, they sat so far from each other while dining, ever keeping to formal rules and decorum. She hated how they talked about all this, as if she weren't even there, as if she were but a thing, another item to be worried over with this wedding. She turned her eyes down to her bowl of porridge and stirred it slowly, not feeling the least bit tempted to eat. Talk of the wedding pulled at her stomach, gnawed at her heart threatened to spill crystal drops from her eyes. But she soon pushed all rebel emotions away and turned her attention back to the conversation.

"Timothy," said the mother queen, "have you socialized with any of the guests who have been arriving for the past two days? Already Sir Patrice and his daughters Saleal and May have arrived. The two daughters are quite exquisite."

"Mother, Saleal weighs as much as father and May is cross-eyed. Besides, they're not the type of women one takes as mistresses."

"I wasn't thinking of your taking them as mistresses," mumbled the queen. As always, the queen glared at Abriella from across the table. The girl was too pretty. The servants, already, were quite enamored of her and loyal to her. It would not do. The queen did not wish for her son to marry such a mysterious and pretty girl as Abriella. Her son called her a princess but the girl knew absolutely nothing a princess should know. She was little more than a learned and physically attractive commoner.

Queen Glenda had thought of forbidding her son to marry the girl, but she had not been able to refuse her son a thing since he was thirteen and had learned that he would not be punished for physical violence toward others. She told him at that tender age that he would not be allowed to skip a royal ball that was being given in honor of his thirteenth birthday. He did not wish to attend, and in front of at least ten servants, dared to push his mother into a wall and slap her. No one lifted a finger in her favor, the king who had also witnesses the princes show of affection for his mother, just sat back in his chair and took another sip of his wine.

The queen did not try to contradict her son after that.

"My dear…" the queen spoke from the other end of the large, long table. Abriella did not realize that the queen was talking to her and not the prince or king. So she was startled when the queen banged her fist on table, spilling soup on all four corners of table.

"Girl! Look up and acknowledge your queen!" The queen's voice was cold with disdain.

Abriella looked up slowly, trying to hide the fear she felt, setting her face into as cold and immovable a stare as she could.

"You will come with me today. There is nothing the tutors can teach you that you will need on your wedding night, nor indeed that you will need as a ruler of any sort," spoke the queen. Abriella thought that there was nothing the queen could teach her that would be helpful while ruling a country. Indeed, as far as she could see, the queen did naught but lay abed all day.

The servant behind Abriella took away the full bowl of porridge and smiled foolishly down at the golden-headed girl. He stepped over the pile of golden braid that pooled behind Abriella's chair glorying in the small smile the girl had bestowed upon him as he had taken the bowl away. The queen noticed it all. The servants once smiled upon her just so. She could take any young lad into her confidence… into her bedroom. Now they all turned the girl's way. No matter that it had been years since her fall from beauty and grace, since a young man's roving eye had turned her way; it was the girl's fault. Yes, it was the girl's fault entirely.

The afternoon was long indeed. Abriella waited on Queen Glenda hand and foot, literally. The highlight of the afternoon had been when the queen had ordered her to give her royal highness a foot massage. Abriella did it, for what else could she do.

The silence in the room had grown uncomfortable, deafening, insufferable, as the good queen lay fanning herself in bed and Abriella sat stiff backed in a high backed chair, and a maid came bustling in, hurrying to the side of her majesty. The maid stooped and whispered in the queen's ear, which caused the queen's eye's to widen visibly. She in turn whispered in the maid's ear and turned her attention to the young girl sitting beside her bed as the maid rushed out of the door.

"You are excused now," stated the queen.

Abriella did not question her future mother in law, she simply stood and left the room, glad to finally be released. There was no one in the hallway, and Abriella had the strangest inclination to do something rash, something that would free her soul from the afternoon that had just smothered it, and now that she thought about it, something she hadn't done since she was little, since Witch took her to the tower.

She ran. Drawing her long hair into her arms, she took off as far as her gown would allow her. It was exhilarating, the stone of the floor beat hard against her feet and the wind whipped past her in a way she could not remember from childhood. She might have ran forever, she might have ran right out of the castle, into the village, and away from everyone forever had she not ran into something, or rather someone.

He was turning the corner and did not see the rampaging maiden. She would have fallen had he not caught her. "Princess Abriella?" questioned Lord Evan. "What is wrong? Why were you running? Is it Timothy?" Evan had long been aware of his cousin's character and had been quite worried about the innocent girl who was to be his bride. He looked at the girl who would be married by weeks end. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair was coming undone, and she was trying valiantly not to show her terror at being caught at such an unladylike activity as running.

"Do not be scared Princess," reassured Evan, "You have no reason to fear me."

"Scared? I… I am not scared Lord Evan. I… I was… well, I was running." There was nothing to do but be truthful; Abriella had had little practice in lying at all. There had never been a reason to.

"Running? From whom?" Evan was quite disturbed. Had the young girl before him been so grievously mistreated that she was running away? Perhaps she was in more danger here than he had ever thought. But her safety should not matter to me, thought Evan, except in that she is an innocent at the hands of my malevolent relatives.

"From the queen," Abriella blurted out before she knew what she was about. She threw her hand over her mouth with wide eyes and took her bottom lip into her teeth. "No, not from the queen," she finally said, "I… I was with the queen. And… and after I left her chamber, I simply had the strange feeling that I must run."

"Everyone feels that way after an interview with her," he said silently, leaning in as if sharing a joke. "Matter of fact, I am on a way to meet with her, and feel like running also. I wish, my lady, that I could join you in your run, but it does not bode well to anger my aunt." He straightened and with a wink, walked past her and turned the corner into the hallway that ended at Queen Glenda's room.

Abriella did not run all the way back to her room as she had planned. Instead, she walked slowly, contemplating the first real kindness that had been shown to her since her escape from the tower. The wink, the conspiratorial tone, all brightened what had been an abysmal afternoon.

Abriella lived on that tiny bit of kindness the rest of the week, remembering it when the queen scowled at her, or when her future husband grabbed her wrist hardly and twisted it, or when he pulled her head back by her braid, or when he pushed her violently against the wall. Really, any small misstep on Abriella's part brought the prince's wrath down on her. She was afraid the dress would have to cover her from ear to toe to hide all bruises and scratches. But perhaps if she bore her wounds to the priest, he would forbid the marriage.

* * *

No. No one ever denied the prince anything. And everyone was very aware of his violent character. In truth, no one looked forward to the day when the lazy and uncaring king passed the crown to his evil-tempered son.

The prince's coronation day was a day all dreaded, but the prince's wedding was a day no one thought the least of. Except for two very frustrated people. Neither Abriella nor Queen Glenda particularly looked forward to the event. So, when only two nights remained before the wedding, both women lay awake in bed. One lay frightened and cold; the other lay hot and enraged.

Pulling the golden rope by her bedside, the queen summoned a maid, who in turn summoned a guard. The queen gave him his orders, which though they surprised him he did not fail to carry out.

* * *

Abriella wakened when a rough hand clamped over her mouth. Two men stood over her in addition to the man who tied a rag around her mouth, rolled her in her blanket, and threw her over his shoulder. Before all vision was lost to the suffocating blackness of the blanket, Abriella vaguely recognized that the men wore the uniform of palace guards. When light next assaulted her eyes, it was a hazy candlelight illuminating the grand outlines of the Queen's bedchamber. The queen's large form stood beside one of the tall bedposts, once delicate fingers gripping the fine mahogany purposefully. 

Abriella was dropped rather roughly and unceremoniously at the queen's feet. The queen gabbed the girl by her hair and pulled her to a standing position. With a gasp, Abriella fought for purchase with the smooth carpet. Finding the floor under her feet, she stood, taking the pressure away from her hair. She turned pleading eyes toward the queen. The queen threw Abriella's hair from her as if it were a filthy rag, and looked at her as if she were little else.

"I've grown tired of you," hissed the queen.

"I am sorry your majesty. I do not understand." Abriella could no longer hide the fear in her eyes.

"No. You would not. You are young and beautiful and innocent, and know nothing of aging, of love, of possession," the queen finished mysteriously.

Abriella could do naught but look dazedly and confusedly at the queen.

But the queen was soon to give explanation. "I was once slim and beautiful as you are, I was once the envy of every woman and the desire of every man. And even after all that was gone… I had my son. And in two days time you take that too."

The woman was delusional, mad even, and Abriella could think of no response. She did not need to however, for the queen kept up with her diatribe. "But you are not as beautiful as I was. Do you know that? You would merely be a pretty sort of a girl… except for that hair. It shines…" this last was said slowly, evenly, and without the rage that had characterized the rest of her speech. But this calmness of demeanor was soon lost as pure insanity entered her sparkling eyes.

The queen pulled a glittering dagger from behind her skirts and stepped ever carefully toward the ever retreating figure of her future daughter in law. "You will not look so breathtaking once all your golden glory is shorn from your rather plain head."

Relief spilled over Abriella's body as she realized that the wild woman before her did not intend to plant the dagger in her heart. But she was once again consumed by fear as the space behind her to which she was retreating vanished and was replaced by the hard cold surface of the wall. Abriella closed her eyes as the queen grabbed her hair and jerked it downward, forcing Abriella to her knees. Before she let the girl go, she had cut all the golden threads within inches of her scalp, leaving a disheveled, shorn mess.

The queen backed away from Abriella. "Look at me, look at me so I may see your beauty now without your precious locks." The queen looked, and was shocked to see that the young girl was still very beautiful. Her sapphire eyes shone wet with tears that refused to spill over, her delicate chin tilted upward, trembling, her cheeks were flushed with anger, confusion, and pain. Though now short, unruly, and shred to tatters, Abriella's hair still reflected what little light filled the room, radiating its own sort of glow.

The queen was enraged, but she spoke with a calmness that belied her passionate state. "I see… you challenge me even now, you dare to conquer me don't you. We shall see. I shall put you somewhere with no light to play off your golden head, or show your rose colored blushing cheeks; I shall put you somewhere where those brilliant eyes will go unseen, will be dulled by darkness."

They were not alone in the room. Abriella had forgotten the three guards that had abducted her from her bed until the queen motioned for one to take hold of her again. She did not try to struggle against them. What was the use? The queen opened a panel inside of the large fireplace on the opposite side of the room, and the guard pushed Abriella toward it. The other two guards lit torches and accompanied her and her captor past the secret panel door and into a small room. There was a low stone structure that Abriella perceived must be a table, a bench, perhaps a bed. The guard shoved her down on it, and the queen entered the chamber. She held in her hand a small candle, and draped over her arm, a silken blanket.

"I hope you like your new home girl," she said as she set the candle down and threw the blanket at Abriella. She left, followed by the three guards, leaving Abriella alone with only the strange and eerie flicker of the candlelight on the damp walls surrounding her. Witch had been right, there was no good in this world. None at all.

* * *

I was right to be worried, thought Evan to himself. His eyebrows were knitted together and he was trying doggedly to block out the prince's bellows. The prince was very displeased that his bride was missing. The king and queen however, seemed not to notice at all. Something was strange. He had to leave the castle… to think. 

He found Christopher outside the castle gate, about to enter. "Evan! I was just coming to find you! Why've you spent so much time at the castle lately? I know how you despise it there. Haven't you seen much too much of her majesty the queen?" Christopher's words were in jest, yet Evan felt them to be all too true.

"Lets find a place to get a good drink Chris. I've much to tell you," said Evan striding purposefully past Christopher. The young man fell in with his friends steps and remained silent until they both had good strong cups of ail in their hands and were sitting quite comfortably in a private room at a respectable tavern.

"Out with it Evan! How much do you have to tell me? And what is it?"

Evan took a long swig of his drink and sat back in his chair. "The princess is missing Chris."

"The princess?" asked Christopher, "you mean the girl the prince brought back with him? The one with the very long hair?"

"The very one."

"She's missing? How? Has she run away? I'd say that's a right likely situation."

"I do not think she's run away. I've met her on a couple of occasions, and think she lacks the strength to do such a thing. No, I think something has happened to her." There was resolution in Evan's voice.

"I do not know how you can be so sure Evan."

"I will tell you how. Earlier this week I had an interview with our queen. She asked me the very same question you just asked me. Why now did I so frequent the castle when I had never done so before."

"Yes, why do you Evan," interrupted the ever-curious friend.

"I will tell you what she thought, what she hoped and what she feared. She hoped that it was to be closer to her, that I was finally going to give in to her… to her charms. This I expected as you probably well know."

Christopher shivered scrunched up his face in disgust, indicating that he did indeed know well what her majesty's intentions toward his friend were.

"But, what she feared was quite shocking to me, and I admit, after I thought my motives over, was actually quite true. You see, she feared that it was the Princess Abriella that I was after. That I loved the young girl, and that it was due to her that I was staying near the castle and my extended family. I denied all her charges, reiterating for the thousandth time that I have no intention whatsoever of treating my aunt as anything other than an aunt, and that I felt nothing but pity for the poor princess, pity that she was soon to be attached to so brutish a man as the prince is. That was why I've been at the castle so often of late, to watch after the princess. There is something about her that makes me think she knows nothing of the world. She is so innocent…"

"I can only imagine how angry the queen was. What did you do Evan?"

"I did nothing. I made to leave but…"

"But what man? Do not leave me hanging!" Christopher was now leaning over the table, entreating his friend with wide eyes and excited voice.

"But it is what she said before I could leave the room that leads me to believe that the princess did not run away, but has run into some sort of trouble from within the castle, indeed, from within the royal family."

"What did she say Evan? What did she say?"

"She said that 'that girl will not have everything.' She said that her son would not marry a girl she did not herself pick out. I shrugged it off as wild ranting. But now… now I think better, more carefully and warily of them."

"Then you believe that good Aunt Glenda had a hand in the princess's disappearance?"

"I do. Though I've no proof. And even if I did, I do not know what I would do with it. How can anyone go against the royal family? I fear the poor girl is lost. Where ever she is, and however it happened, she is lost."

A silence, most depressing in its heaviness, settled over the table and the two men. Simultaneously, they grabbed their mugs and emptied them in one long gulp.

* * *

They returned to the castle together, Christopher left Evan in an upstairs hallway in search of a chambermaid whose sweet countenance and blushing smile was quick on its way to catching his heart. Evan hoped that the queen was still in the prince's chambers, calming her infuriated son. For Evan fully intended to search her majesty's chambers. He did not know what he was looking for, but he fully intended to find it. 

He knocked on the door and did not get the silent answer he had been hoping for. Instead, the queen's steady voice rang out confidently, biding him enter. With a long, defeated sigh, Evan obeyed.

"My dear boy! What a wonderful surprise! I am all excitement that you have come to visit me."

"Have you found the princess?"

"The princess? Oh… you've heard. No, we've not found her yet. My son is furious. He swears he'll find her," her lips curved upward in a sadistic smile that sent shivers down Evan's spine.

"Do you have any clue as to what might have happened to her?"

"No. But… why would you show any interest?" The queen's eyes narrowed to tiny slits. "I do not like it that you come to me and talk of only her. I do not like it at all."

"A woman is missing your majesty. Aren't you even a little worried?"

"No," she replied with a sharpness of tongue that cut through Evan like a knife. Evan slowly backed away from the queen's stony silhouette and turned sharply to leave the room. But before he could exit, a golden reflection of light caught his eye. Moving to wall next to the door, he bent down to pick up whatever it was that had caught the sun's light and sent it shimmering across his vision.

It was a lock of golden hair.

Evan stood and slowly turned to face the queen. She stood exactly as he had left her, only her eyes were quite intent on him now. Her lips curved slowly up into a smile and she rolled her eyes toward the fireplace as he approached her.

"What have you done with her?"

"She is mine to keep, and none of yours to worry about."

Evan followed her gaze to the fireplace and remembered the room he and Timothy had found as children. His eyes grew large and his lips tightened together. "You must let her go Aunt Glenda. You can't keep her prisoner in that hole."

"I can. I will." Her look was quite determined and showed not a little of the insanity which had been creeping up on her all these years and which had consumed her since her first glimpse of the golden headed Abriella. Then her look changed. It alarmed Evan how quickly it had happened. He could not now describe the look that held her eyes. Was it glee? Was it mischief?

"I will hold her… unless you care to trade."

"Trade? Trade what? You speak strangely."

"No my boy, I speak plainly. I will give you the girl if you give me something in return." She moved to her bedside and sat down on the plush feather mattress, batting her eyelashes at her bewildered nephew.

"I could have nothing that you want Aunt. You are queen, you have everything you desire."

"I do not have you."

Evan was shocked and horrified by her suggestion. It was crude, it was disgusting and unthinkable. "Do you mean to say that you will set the princess free if I give myself to you. You're crazy."

"I am not," she asserted coolly, keeping her position on the bed. "I wish to trade one prisoner for another. Will you take her place then _nephew _Evan," she asked, making a mockery of the word nephew. "You know, I have not fed her since I put her there. I supposeI wouldfeed a prisoner I more liked, maybe someone like you… but her… no. It will be a great experiment, to see how long she can survive without food."

Evan grew colder and colder with each searing word. The queen was mad. She was mad and sadistic. She was evil. Evan somehow knew that the small woman behind the fireplace was almost dead with fear and pain, but still did not know if he was that righteous, if he was that selfless. If he gave himself to the queen to free her, she would just have to marry the prince, and be thrown into yet another prison.

"I will do as you ask, I will trade places with her…if… if you give her a horse. Give her a horse and food, and a guide. Christopher, my squire. Send Christopher with her and let her leave this place. I will only trade places with her if I know she will not be marrying the prince tomorrow, next week, or indeed any other day. If I barter my own life for hers, then I wish to gain her whole freedom. Do you understand?" Now Evan's words were fierce and determined. He knew the queen really wanted him for a captive, and now she had a way of achieving her utmost goal. She would give him what he wanted. Ultimately, he held the upper hand in this negotiation.

"Done," the queen agreed too quickly for Evan's liking.

"You swear it?"

"I will show you my lord." With that, she walked over to the fireplace and pushed open the hidden panel. By the sliver of light that flooded into the dark chamber, Evan could just make out the huddled form of a woman on a low stone slab. The queen walked calmly into the room and jerked the girl up by her arm. When she pulled Abriella into the light, the girl slammed her eyes shut, the warm flooding light too much for the orbs that had seen naught but darkness for what must have seemed like forever.

Evan stared openly at the girl's shorn hair. The queen had been particularly cruel and brutal in her punishment.

"It seems you have a knight in shining armor," spoke the queen to Abriella. "But you have him no more. He has traded himself for your freedom." The queen's smile was smug, her tone victorious. She threw Abriella into a chair and came to stand next to Evan.

When he found his voice, he spoke, "Lady Abriella, are you well?"

"Yes," she unimaginably answered. "Lord Evan, I cannot allow you to do this. You barely even know me. Why would you make such a sacrifice?"

"Quiet chit!" demanded the queen. "He will not take back his deal." Then turning to Evan. "How do you like her now, this beauty? She is not so beautiful without her long hair is she?"

Evan could not lie. "No, she is still beautiful."

The queen's complacent smile fled her face and was replaced by an ugly snarl. "Leave! Find this young Christopher before my son finds you, and you may have your freedom."

"No!" Yelled Evan. "You said she would have her freedom if I gave you mine! Let me send a servant for Christopher. He will come here and smuggle the princess from your chambers and out of the castle. You cannot go back on our deal my queen." His voice rose in a steady volume as he turned almost violently toward the woman who was now holding onto his arm, pulling harshly away from her grasp.

He disarmed her, surprised her with his fury. "Yes, you are right." The queen called a servant from without her chamber and sent them in search of Christopher.


End file.
